


With a Quiet Sort of Roar

by Chibihaku



Series: Kalasin Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, I despise tagging my own work, Other works to come, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:37:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibihaku/pseuds/Chibihaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs to catch their breath sometimes, and everyone needs a place to rest. She didn't mean to fall in love with him, but when she did it was with a quiet sort of roar that no-one could have anticipated.</p><p>A collection of drabbles too short to merit their own post, focusing on the softer moments between Lavellan and Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which Kalasin is bad at giving gifts.

“I got you something.”

Bull looked up from his spot on the ground near the campfire to see the Inquisitor standing over him, holding one of Kai’s saddlebags and twisting the leather between her fingers. “Oh?" 

"I’m not sure if it’s… well…” She frowned and looked away, before a determination slipped into her eyes and she looked back. “It’s not that great, but I thought you might like it.”

“And what is it that I am supposed to like?” Bull said, raising his eyebrow and tilting his head slightly.

She tossed the saddlebag to him. it landed in his lap with a surprisingly loud clang.

“No offense, boss, but your halla is the pack-mule, not me.”

“It’s _in_ the bag?” She raised her eyebrow at him.

 He smirked at her, fingers already lazily undoing the buckles of the bag, enjoying the nervousness that was vibrating through her. She lifted her eyes from his hands to his face and saw the expression, and the worry on her face turned into a scowl. 

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He lied.

She rolled her eyes and he could see the little twitch at the corner of her mouth that meant she was repressing a smile. He tilted his chin up and deliberately met her eyes with his own, holding the gaze until she looked away, then dropping his attention back to the saddle bag in his hands. 

He opened the bag and slid out the item inside, and nearly dropped it in surprise.

“I’m not sure you would like it, and I want you to know that it’s only just now it’s occurred to me that you might link it with the ‘ox-men’ slur and I really don’t mean it that way. I just thought… you know. Iron Bull, and an Iron Bull Skull and - ”

“Boss, it's  _great._ "  _  
_

And it  _was._  The helmet was made out of wrought iron in the shape of an ox’s skull, with clever iron-work and buckles so that if he put it on, it would look like his horns were the horns of some skull-faced monster. The inside of the helmet was padded with soft leather, nug by the look of it, and there was more than enough room around where his eyepatch would be that the helmet wouldn’t push the patch uncomfortably into his face.

He’d been silent too long, studying the helmet, because her nerves were coming back and her hands were twisting over themselves again. "If there’s anything that doesn’t fit right, Harritt said he can help me fix it. We had to do a lot of work on it to get it fixed up for you in the first place, but he said it’s easy enough to modify.” She looked at her feet. “Not that you have to wear it or anything, but I just thought it might add to the whole The Iron Bull image, you know, machine of destruction and - ”

“Boss, I love it.” He said, loudly, over whatever her monologue had just been about to turn into. “Guy sees me coming wearing this he’s going to  _shit_  himself. It’s going to be awesome.”

“I… well.” She smiled hesitantly, “That was the idea.”

He grinned at her. “Thanks, Boss.”

“You’re welcome, Bull.”

He patted the ground next to him, and she gingerly sat down, taking her halla’s saddlebag back from him. Bull held the mask up and examined it in the glint of the firelight, looking at the almost-minuscule repair marks that told him of a history of violence already in the helmet’s past.

It was scarred, and wasn’t that appropriate?

He looked over at the Inquisitor next to him, at the way the flickering firelight glinted off her face. She was relaxed, now that she knew he liked her gift, and it showed in the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the slight upward tilt of her mouth.  

“Hey, uh, you know half of that The Iron Bull stuff is just bullshit, right?”

She looked at him, her smile turning into a smirk. “Just half?”

“Yeah. Half. Exactly half.”

“Of course, Bull.” She said, looking away into the fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What hurts most about Redcliffe was that she wasn't there to stop it.

“Hey, uh,” His voice is filled with a discordant buzz that grates on nerves stretched thin, “You okay, Boss?”

She tries not to look at him, at the cobwebs of red energy dancing about his face, visible chips of stone in his eye. She never expected that she could find such an easy friendship so quickly, in the short time she’s known him, they’ve swapped stories and told rotten jokes and set out to make Cassandra squirm under the combined forces of his determined rowdiness and her deliberate polite guile.

 

She tries not to look at him because Dorian is ahead, looking about with a strange, academic fascination on his face and she can tell this isn’t real to him, not really. Why should it be? He hasn’t interacted with these people, gotten to know them. He hasn’t shared meals around campfires in the Hinterlands, laughed at the juxtaposition of Bull trying to use her bow - it was dwarfed in his hands, it had made her laugh with how he struggled to draw it because she kept it so  _stiff_  for the added power it gave her. He hadn’t seen Bull hand it back, perplexed, or heard Cassandra’s smothered laugh when she drew it and shot their supper.

She’s trembling. She’s trying not to cry, and Bull’s trying not to hover.

“I’m really not.” She says. “I’m really not okay at all.”

She doesn’t ask - she doesn’t want to  _know_  where the others are, what has happened to Cullen and Solas and Vivienne and  _oh,_  Sera and Varric, and Flissa and Segrit and…

“Hey,” Says Bull, hand coming up to her shoulder, “Hey. You’ll fix this.”

She blinks once, slowly, and looks down and away.

Bull’s other hand comes to her chin and tilts her back to face him. “You’ll  _fix_ this, Boss.”

“You can’t know that.” She tells him.

“You’re right.” He replies, “But I don’t have to know it.” His hand comes around her shoulder in an awkward, too fragile hug. “I know you.”

“Oh?”

“Stubborn asshole, you are.” He says. “You see a problem and you get in there and you fix it with a little smile on your face like you’re the most civil person in Thedas. Just as likely to talk someone out of doing something stupid as you are to do something stupid yourself.”

Her laugh is a little bit too watery, and he doesn’t exactly smell pleasant after who knows how long he’s been in that dungeon, but the low rumble in his chest that accompanies his voice is a comfort she didn’t expect.

“You’re going to get back and make sure this never happens, Boss.” He says, and there’s such _faith_  in his voice that she almost believes it herself.

She rests her forehead on his chest and tucks her hands under her chin. His other hand comes up and around her and she feels…  _safe_ , which is strange, because she’s in a dungeon surrounded by red lyrium, being hugged by a man whose loyalties were never fully hers, but he’s warm and gentle and kind and she feels herself gathering up her courage to continue on into the hellhole of a future with him at her side.

“You can let me go now.” She says, when it starts to get a little bit awkward.

“Nah.” He tells her, “Not just yet.”

She looks up at him, but he’s not looking at her, instead at the room about them.

And there’s a tenseness in his arms that’s hidden very well, a stiffness in his spine that he can’t quite cover, and in a moment of inspiration she slips her arms about him as well, lets him run his hand along her back and bury his face in her hair, and becomes the thing he clings to, if only for a moment in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of kisses requested by the good folks over on Tumblr.

**A laughing kiss**

“You alright, Boss?”

Part of Bull is worried that she’s hit her head on something while they were fighting, because she seems to be unable to stop the giggles that are bubbling out of her. “We just fought a  _high dragon.”_ She manages to get out, breathlessly, through the giggles. “A  _high dragon,_ Bull!”

“And it was awesome, but you haven’t stopped laughing since it died.” 

She reaches her hands up and tugs him down, brightness lining her eyes. She brushes her lips along his, smile unstoppable, laughter still bubbling past her lips. “High dragon, Bull. We should be  _dead_.”

He blinks and pulls away because  _she kissed him._ Mostly, he figured they didn’t have that sort of relationship, the kind where she kisses him in public, with nothing else but giddy affection. She’s never done it before.

Suddenly, he feels like laughing almost as hard as she is. 

“We should be  _dead_ , Bull!” She says again, more emphatic, before she descends into the chaos of giggles again.

Somehow, Bull never expected  _this_  to be what she meant when she said that she ‘laughs in the face of danger’.

But hey, he got to kill a dragon, and he got a kiss. It’s been a good day.

\---

**A good morning kiss**

The smell of freshly brewed tea is enough to bring Bull into wakefulness. He’s in the tower in Skyhold, in the Inquisitor’s overlarge bed (the one she’d seen in Val Royeaux while escorting Josie and made that little sound about, the one that meant the diplomat had somehow made it appear in Skyhold the next week) and as he sits up.and shakes his head to clear it, he looks over towards the fireplace.  
  
Sure enough, she’s sitting in her chair by the fire, and sure enough Bull notices two things about her. The first is that she’s over-brewed her tea, she keeps wincing slightly as she sips it. The second is that underneath the blanket she’s got pulled around her, she’s naked.  
  
She must have heard him rousing, because she looks over at him and grins, standing from the chair she’s sitting in. Her blanket falls away to puddle at her feet and he gets a long look at the whole of her, lets his eyes linger as she stalks back to the bed, a lazy smile on her face. He waits until she’s within reach and pounces, dragging her back into the bed, biting at her neck as she laughs at him.   
  
“Good morning to you, too.” She says. It’s the last thing he lets her say for a while.

\---

**A kiss on the top of the head**

Drinks at the Herald’s Rest have become somewhat of a tradition after every successful mission. Not everyone comes every time, of course, but enough people come that they fill up the back half of the tavern, and that Josephine has started making allowances in the budget for the money that gets spent. ("It’s good for morale, Lady Montiliyet." “Even so, are you aware of exactly how much The Iron Bull and Dorian Pavus can  _drink_?”) 

Usually, there’s cards, conversation and a steady ebb and flow of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, and this time is no different, even though it’s a smaller crowd than usual.

“Next round?” Asks the Inquisitor, standing. She gets a few cheerful assents from a group made up of Sera and Scout Harding, along with a few other of the Inquisition soldiers that set up camps around Ferelden, and then she steps around the tables to where Bull sits with his chargers, comparing notes of the  missions that she’s sent them on. 

“Drinks?” She asks, leaning down over Bull and kissing him on the forehead, grinning when he grumbles at her.

“Not in front of the boys, Kadan.” He says, and she grins and leans down and kisses him again. He gives her a sharp look, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling - she’ll probably pay for that later.

“It’s not very often that I’m on a height to do it, though,” She tells him, “I have to take my chances when I can.”

“I think it’s cute,” Says Krem with a grin. Bull flicks a piece of food at him. 

“Grab me an ale, Kadan?”

“Of course.” She grins, ducks in and kisses him again and turns away.

She gasps when he slaps her on the ass, and pointedly ignores the wolf-whistles from her friends that follow her to the bar. 

She hopes that the dark light of the tavern will hide her blush.

\---

**A celebratory kiss**

Bull pulls her aside before she can go into the Hold’s main hall and join in the celebrations within, gripping her by the shoulders and pressing her against the wall. She gasps at the roughness (but it’s nothing she’s not used to, so when he grins down at her, she tilts her head up and lets her tongue sneak across her bottom lip.)

He growls, grasps her around her hips and lifts her, she wraps her legs around his middle and is secretly glad when one of his hands leaves her waist to help support her hold. She leans in, so does he, and the kiss is long and heated, full of breathless little gasps and nipping bites that follow the path her tongue took just moments ago.

She brings her hands up to his cheeks, she’s always been handsy (even before she met him) and normally he might encourage it or restrain her as he feels. But this time his hands are occupied with holding her up and she has free reign to run her fingers over his scars, the base of his horns, the tips of his ears. He growls against her, bites her lip hard enough to bruise, and she laughs against his mouth because she’s one to skirt the boundaries of another person’s control, even when she gladly submits. 

Bull pulls away, and all she can do is look at him for a dizzying moment - breathe against the swell of affection in her chest - before his lips are on hers again and everything is complete.

\---

**A kiss of pure relief**

Bull sees her go down.

He’s fighting off two red templars when a third gets behind Lavellan and strikes her over the head with a cudgel. Normally, it’s the sort of move she’d duck and dodge around, with a grin and a “I was waiting for you to do that”, but this time she doesn’t, this time she drops like a sack of bricks and doesn’t get up. 

Bull roars, throws the two men he’s fighting back, and for a moment, his sense is so clouded that he almost turns to run to her then and there, but sense grips him, he brings up his sword and snarls, swings wildly.

Cassandra pushes past him. “Go.” She says, shield up, sword out, “I will deal with them.”

It’s all he needs. In a second, he’s by the elf's side, rolling her over. Her head lolls on her neck, and _shit_  she isn’t breathing. He runs his hands over her chest. “Kadan?” Something like a fist of ice grips his heart. “ _Kadan!”_

_“Move!”_  Dorian shoves him out of the way, and for all the mage should be as weak as wet paper, Bull finds himself shunted aside like a child. A crackle of charge surrounds the Vint, and he slams his fist to the Inquisitor’s chest, just above her heart.

The effect is immediate, she shudders, comes awake, gasping and coughing. Dorian is up and gone, Bull can hear Cassandra and the templars still fighting, but it’s like they’re at the other end of a long tunnel. All he can see is his kadan.

He knows she’s hit her head, that he should keep her still, but he can’t bring himself to. He scoops her up in his arms and holds her close - he’s not even sure she really knows what’s going on, because her hands are scrambling for purchase. He holds her close and breathes in the smell of her, kisses her hair.

She relaxes in his arms, smiles when he can bring himself to let go of her enough that he can see her face. 

He kisses her, once, twice, tenderly on the lips, on the end of her nose, on her cheeks, her eyelids. 

She reaches up a hand and rests it against his cheek, and it’s more reassuring than any words she could have said. 

\---

**An angry kiss**

“What were you  _doing_  out there, Kadan?” Bull was angry, which in of itself is a surprise. She’s never seen him angry before - annoyed, yes, but never angry. But he was looking at her like he was about to hit something, and she instinctively put up her guard.

“If you mean the part where I drew that Venatori away from you, I think you’ll find I was saving your life.” The effect of the statement is somewhat hampered by the fact that Cassandra is wrapping a bandage around her arm where the mage got off a lucky fireball. But it was a fireball that hadn’t been aimed at Bull when Bull was fighting two swordsmen and a surprisingly aggressive Druffallo that had decided they’d wandered into it’s territory, so Lavellan counted it as a win.

“You almost got yourself killed!”

“I had him!” She snapped in reply, “No different than usual.”

Bull took a step towards her. “ _That_ ,” He said, pointing at her arm, “Is a  _lot_  different than usual.”

“Even sappers get hurt sometimes, Bull. You  _know_  that.”

“I am going to leave now.” Said Cassandra, awkwardly, as she finished dressing Kal’s burn, “Do not kill each other.”

Bull grumbled as the Seeker left, Lavellan glared at him. “I’m not made of porcelain, Bull! I can take a hit.”

“I had them. There was no need for that.”

“ _Fen’Harel’s testicles_  you had them!” She snapped,”I’m not about to see the person I love get roasted alive just to sate his damn pr- “

Bull’s lips were suddenly pressed against hers, his arms coming around her in a crushing hug. He was grumbling low in his chest, a deep sound that she felt more than heard as she was swept up in the kiss, pressing back, her eyes sliding closed. His hand threadded into her hair and pulled, sharply, his other reaching down to her ass and dragging her closer to him. She opened her mouth and mewled, and he pulled away suddenly, sharply, leaving her feeling strangely empty.

He growled again, ran his hand over his face. Panting, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “I know what I’m doing, Bull.” She said softly, “Sometimes I’ll get hit.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you so angry?”

Bull looked over at her, something like pain in his eye. She sighed, stepped up to him, let her forehead rest against his chest. He brought his hand up to her back, running his fingers along her spine in a motion which was as much to soothe himself as to soothe her. 

“You scared me.” He said. He sounded young, surprised, like he hadn’t even considered it was something that could happen. He grumbled. “This is probably why people say don’t sleep where you work.”

She laughed and shifted so she could lean against him. “Probably.” She said, “But bad ideas have never stopped us before.”

They were silent for a moment, then Bull let out a rumbling chuckle. “You said you loved me.”

“Didn’t.”

“I heard you.”

“ _Didn’t._ “

“I love you too.”

“Creators!  _Didn’t.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting at the winter palace

She had to be doing it on purpose. 

Bull tugged at the collar of his tunic as he looked over the ballroom at the Inquisitor, who was blithely talking to one of the many guests at the Winter Palace. Her fingers were tracing the lip of her wineglass as she gave a razor-sharp smirk and said something that had the people around her in stitches. 

After the exposition of Florianne, the Inquisitor had changed out of her blood-covered formal wear into a dress provided to her by Celene - a gown that Celene wore as a young teenager - so that she would still remain in approriate attire for the evening. (Josephine, who had fought tooth and nail to try and get the Inquisitor into a dress, nearly went into throes of delight when it was discovered that there was no way that the Inquisitor could have refused the offer and still remain in good standing with the Empress.) The dress was off-white, with soft green embroidery trailing down the sleeves and bodice. It had a low, square neckline and skimmed over her hips, containing none of the fullness of the more recent Orlesian styling, but still attractive in it’s own way. It suited her, as much as any dress could, and the pale colouring made her an easy beacon to find amongst the brighter, more garish shades of the nobility. 

As he watched the Inquisitor, her fingers came up from the wineglass and traced along the side of her neck in what looked like a completely casual, unconscious move. She pulled at the chain of the necklace she was wearing, tilted her head ever so slightly as if she was listening to the man across from her, and her eyes flicked once in Bull’s direction. She smiled at whatever the man said, made a reply, and then her fingers went back to the rim of her wineglass, tracing around the rim almost absently. 

And when her eyes flicked to him again, he  _knew_  she was doing it on purpose.

He stood a little straighter next to the wall and smothered his frown.

Someone called her title from across the room, and she looked up, before turning back to her conversation and making some polite excuse. She stepped lightly out of the conversation circle, and turned towards her new conversation partner, an older dowager with a gilded mask that covered her face. The Inquisitor smiled warmly and moved towards her, hips swaying enticingly as she stepped past Bull, dress shifting about her like water. Bull watched as she moved, all easy grace, watched her smile become a little tight when the dowager laid an easy hand on her arm. 

When she leant in to say something to the old woman, conveniently positioned so that Bull could get a look full down her top if he wanted, Bull smirked and turned to the food. Turnabout was fair play, and he was a master of this sort of game. He took a handful of nuts from the table, and casually put one in his mouth, letting his eyes trace over her figure when she cast another glance in his direction. He let his lip turn up a fraction at the corner, raised his eyebrow above the patch.

She shifted her wineglass so she was holding the bowl in one hand, idly sliding the fingers of her other hand down the stem. She said something to the dowager that made the woman laugh, but she was very deliberately looking at Bull’s face, her own smirk echoing his. 

He leaned back against the wall, tilted his head, ate some more nuts.

She caught her lip between her teeth for a moment, before turning fully to the dowager. She reached up and ‘absently’ drew her hair to one side of her head, letting Bull see the full expanse of her neck from jawline almost to shoulder. The soft, yellow light of the candles in their sconces made her freckles appear to glow against the dark copper of her skin.

Bull looked away like he wasn’t impressed, turning instead to watch the dancers on the ballroom floor, swirling in a rainbow of chiffon and silk, gossamer and tulle. The light of the grand chandelier flickered off a thousand metal and porcelain masks, painted faces stared from every corner of the ballroom, elegantly designed hats and hairstyles speaking of little but decadence.

When he looked back over at the little group, the Inquisitor was gone. He frowned and straightened, looking over the crowd to see if he could catch a glimpse of her tiny frame, and he spotted a splash of white and red in the crowd, headed out onto one of the balconies. He threw back the rest of his handful of nuts and casually sauntered in the direction she had gone, noting with amusement that people were quick to get out of his way when he thought to move. 

He reached the balcony in time to watch the tail end of a conversation between the Inquisitor and a black-haired woman in a dark velvet dress, and frowned as he stepped back to let the latter pass back into the ballroom. The Inquisitor was leaning on the balustrade, shivering slightly in the descending nighttime chill, dress fluttering lightly in a barely-there breeze. 

He stepped behind her and ran his hands over her shoulders, enjoying the way she leant backwards into his touch. “Hey Kadan.” He whispered, right next to her ear.

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes heavy, lips curled in a smirk that he just had to kiss away.


	5. Chapter 5

It was late as Bull made his way from the tavern to the main hallway of Skyhold. The torches in their sconces had been allowed to burn low, coating the chamber in a soft, dull light that did little to diffuse the shadows in the room’s corners. Most of the population of the old fortress were asleep or otherwise occupied, causing the usually bustling room to be near-empty. 

He nodded to Varric as he moved through the hall. The dwarf was in the process of finishing off some piece of correspondence in the light of a dying fire, but he still lifted a hand in a lazy wave as Bull passed. The tables on either side of him stood empty, doors on both sides of the hall were closed, and Bull noted the absence of Vivienne’s piercing stare on his back, meaning that even she had moved on to her chambers for the night. Ahead and to his left, a door opened, Josephine moved through it and closed it behind her, the torchlight staining her silk shirt a dull orange. She glanced at him only briefly as she passed him, muttering a ‘good night’ with a voice thick with weariness. 

 He stepped past the throne and through the doorway that led up to the Inquisitor’s quarters. He made his way quietly up the stairs and smothered the annoyed voice in his head that pointed out (again) that were the fortress to be sieged, there was no obvious escape route from the tower. Not that escape routes were something that the Inquisitor readily embraced, he thought - if Skyhold were to be sieged he didn’t believe for a second that she would be one to hide away while others fought for her.

He opened the door at the top of the stairs and slipped into the darkened loft. Moonlight shone in through the large windows, diffusing everything in the room until it seemed to glow about the edges. A single candle, flickering slightly, cast a patch of warmth over the Inquisitor’s desk, shining honey highlights through her hair where she was asleep, head pillowed on her arms paperwork spread about her like a slightly musty halo. She had a quiet, almost inaudible snore due to her broken nose, and the papers underneath her face rustled slightly with every breath, but otherwise the room was silent and still.

He grinned and shook his head at the sight. He was getting soft, if such a small thing could make him feel so punch-drunk. 

(“Soft as a stuffed nug,” Krem would say, grinning as he said it.)

Stepping lightly across the room, he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “Kadan.”

She came awake in increments, blinking owlishly as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, tilting her head to regard him with a sleepy glance. Her frown, when it came, was not truly awake and a little confused. “What time is it?” She asked.

“Late. You should be in bed.”

She shook her head as if to clear it, and he smiled when he noticed that some of her hair was sticking out at an odd angle. “Too much work to do.” She straightened and winced a little, he ran his fingers down her spine, delighting at her shivered response.

“And I’m sure it was getting done when you were sleeping on it, too.” He responded, running his hand down her back again. Her shoulders were quickly drooping with weariness - what little wakefulness that had returned to her was fading quickly. “It can wait 'till morning. And it will be better for it too," He added, after a beat, "Cos you'll be less likely to drool on it.”

She scowled at him, or tried to. Her drooping eyelids made it less effective than it would have otherwise been. “I don't  _drool_.”

He said nothing - a wise man knows when to keep his silence - and instead helped her out of the chair.

She wavered very slightly on her feet as he stepped around her, fingers deftly undoing the buttons on her blouse. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder as he slid the material down her arms, letting it fall to the floor when she was free. She turned towards him and placed her hands on his chest, her forehead coming to rest on his collarbone.

“Can’t see what I’m doing.”

“Hnn.” She said, “Warm.”

He pressed his nose to the top of her head so that his huff of affectionate laughter would be lost into her hair. He reached down with an accuracy born of familiarity and pulled loose the laces that held her breeches closed, using both hands to slide the fabric down over her hips. The pants fell into a puddle on the floor, and with some stumbling that she would never admit to, she stepped out of them. He lifted his hands and let them ghost from her shoulders down her arms, watching the prickle of goose-flesh that raised after. She let out a little huff of contentment when his hands took hers, following closely when he stepped backwards towards the bed.

She tilted her face upwards so that she could see him. There was a sleepy, cheshire grin spreading across her face, one that left warmth in his chest whenever he saw it. “You have me in my smalls, Bull,” She said, letting her head fall to the side, “What are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to put you to bed.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her neck, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. 

“And what are you going to do then?”

“Probably watch you fall asleep and then go through your shit.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Not going to have your way with me first?”

“And have you fall asleep halfway through? Not even a  _bit_  sexy.” As he was speaking, he slipped to her side, letting the hand at her neck fall until it rested on her hip. He gently moved her in the direction of her bed. “Besides, how can I overlook this opportunity to read into your military strength and your spy networks?”

“So you’re just using me for my intelligence?”

The flicker of pain that went through him at that - that if he was still Ben Hassrath, it would have been expected of him to do exactly what she’d just suggested - was short and he successfully kept it out of his voice as he replied. “That’s me,” He ran his thumb over her hip, “Qunari spy and all that.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re impossible, Ma Vhenan.”

He stilled.

She’d never said it before, not in so many words, and he knew she had a thing about love and refusing to admit to it, even to herself. And he wasn’t a fool, more, he was a trained spy who had a  _dalish elf_  working for him, so he knew exactly what those two words meant.

She turned towards him, her eyes becoming rapidly more alert. “Bull?”

He forced himself to relax, let his thumb resume stroking her hip, allowed the smile that was forming on his face, though he knew it was probably something a little too soft to ever look right on his features. “You really need sleep, Kadan,” He said, “You’re spilling all your secrets to me tonight.”

She gave him a perplexed look as he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, to save himself from saying any more.

She watched him a moment more, before a yawn overtook her and she crinkled her nose in embarrassment. He took the opportunity to gently guide her onto the bed and under the blankets.

As he turned to step away, her hand slipped out, snakelike, and caught him about the wrist. He looked back at her, raising his eyebrow.

“Stay?”

He shook his head wryly, fingers already coming up to the buckles of his shoulder brace. “Let me get out of my armour first.”

She smiled, letting her hand fall away, eyelids already drooping shut. As he settled in next to her, bringing her arm up over his chest and running a hand through her hair, he thought he felt her drop a kiss onto his collarbone.

It was over a scar, of course, in a place where even half-asleep she knew he had little feeling left, and though he hid it better, he was nearly as tired as she. It was entirely possible that he could have imagined it.

Oh yes, he could have imagined it. 

But he didn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short prompt from Tumblr. Tempted to add to this but maybe later.

She’s splayed across the bed, on her back, hands tied above her, and he’s in the mood to tease. 

She swallows nervously when he looks her up and down - he hasn’t laid a hand on her yet, seemingly content just to look with an eye that burns vivid green in the semi-dark. His scars glow in the moonlight that crosses the bed, he’s sitting on the very end of it, legs still over the edge, and still in all of the minimal clothing he wears.

She’s very much aware that she’s naked.

The tension mounts - she knows that he wants her to break, wants her to let go of the strained whimper that keeps trying to fight it’s way past her teeth when he’s already told her not to make a sound. Just as she thinks she can’t bear it any more, just as she thinks she needs to squirm, to  _move_ , to get away from that piercing eye, he slips the tips of his fingers (it’s not the hand that’s whole, there’s two digits missing in the touch) over the top of her foot and down, down to her ankle and under her calf.

He lifts her leg, places her foot on his shoulder and kisses her instep, once, before he nips at her slender ankle bone.

Then his touch moves, he tilts her leg and kisses another innocuous spot on the inside of her calf, then teeth again somewhere else, then a kiss in another place.

It takes her a moment to figure out what he’s doing as he moves up her leg, but when she does the groan building in her throat almost wins out. 

He’s following her freckles, after all, and the Creators know how many of those she has.


	7. Chapter 7

“Bull,” Kalasin debates whether or not she should shake him, as it’s not the first time she’s said his name and Harding said she had to be quick if they were going to get there in time to see, “Bull,  _wake up._ ”

She’s trying to be as quiet as possible, but the man sleeps like the  _dead_  unless something is threatening the camp. She puts her hand on his shoulder again and leans down so that she can whisper into his ear – desperate times call for desperate measures, “Krem and I have decided to run away together and we’re leaving in the morning.”

“What now?” Bull comes to all at once, arms coming under himself so he can push upright. She loses her balance and tumbles a little bit before he catches her without thinking.

“Good,” She says, “You’re awake.” She straightens out of his hold and smooths down her clothing. He glares at her, and for all he was dead to the world a moment ago, there’s no trace of sleep in his eye now.

He gets his arms under him and props himself up as she reaches behind herself for his pants. “Here,” she says, handing them to him, “Put these on.”

He takes them from her and sits up properly before he sends her a questioning look. She answers with a bland smile, folding her hands into her lap. “Not even a hint?” He asks as he flips back their sleeping skins and slips the pants up his legs.

“You’re the ex-spy, you should have worked it out by now.”

“Well,” He says, and she sees him trying very hard not to smirk, “It’s not an emergency or you would be shouting for the whole camp.”

She glances through her eyelashes at him, all coquettish charm. He gives her a patient look.

“What else?” She asks as she gets to her knees and backs out of the tent. He follows, eyebrow lifting curiously. He doesn’t bother to put his eyepatch on, and she secretly feels a little thrill at that, even as she teases him along with a little smile.

“Something outside of the camp, because I need to wear pants.” He tells her as she slips out of the tent flap and up to her feet. He follows with a slight grunt of effort. “It’s not very far, though, because you didn’t bother with shoes.”

“Do you need your brace?”

“Not if we’re only going a short distance. It’ll come good.”

She smiles over her shoulder at him and walks to the edge of the cliff that the camp is on, starting down the path that wends down the rocky slope. His hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades as they walk – she has better night-vision than he does, even if he’d jumped a foot in the air the first time her eyes had flashed in the dark. The touch is something casual that’s born of complete trust and she still finds it a little unnerving even as she picks her way through the rocks.

“What-” He asks, as they start down the path to the small waterfall.

She shushes him, “You’ll like this, but you have to be quiet.”

He falls silent with a small frown.

She can feel him next to her in the dark, relaxed and warm, his fingers a reassuring weight on her spine. As they approach the waterfall, she turns off the path, leading them down into some thick bushes that ring the edge of the pond. She can feel the question in the press of his hand on her spine. She tilts her head and smiles at him, pushing aside some leaves so that they can see.

He goes still.

She’d made sure that they were downwind so that the creatures wouldn’t sense their approach at all. An immature dragon female with stubby wings is at the waterfall, her breath freezing the water around her. Two younger male dragons are next to her, testing the newly-formed surface with their claws, then moving out onto the pond with more confidence when the ice held their weight. The air glitters with half-frozen mist, and she can feel the chill where they are, secretly glad when Bull pulls her against him, his warmth seeping into her side.

Unaware of their audience, the two male dragons dance around the female, vying for her attention with displays of sparks (one electric, one fire) and tiny squealing yips that sound much more gentle and delicate than anything she’d thought a dragon could produce. The female regards them both with disinterest, going to the edge of the ice and taking a long draw of water from the pond. Her wings flap, once, the wind sending powdered, glittering ice up into the air where it catches the light from the moon and looks all the world like magic.

Kal rests her head against Bull with a sigh, his fingers squeeze her hip.

The dance continues for some time, none of the dragons aware of their audience as the two males try to outdo each other and the female regards them thoughtfully. The tricks get more acrobatic, more daring, the males darting and leaping, alternatively moving together and snapping at each other. Eventually, after fifteen minutes or so, one stumbles and rolls to the ground and the other trumpets victory, pressing up against the female dragon and presenting himself to her.

She regards him with a disdainful eye and flaps her wings at him once, before launching herself up into the air towards a nearby hill.

The two males bolt across the ground after her, disappearing into the undergrowth.

“Tease,” Bull says, but there’s a smile in his voice.

“They’re all still too young yet to reproduce.” Kal tells him, “They’re just practicing for when they’re ready.”

His hand moves from her hip to her hair, and she closes her eyes at the feel of his fingers running through the strands, pressing lightly against her scalp. He kisses the top of her head, she opens her eyes and looks up at him.

There’s a softness in his expression that she doesn’t think she’ll get used to seeing any time soon. The mist is still on the air, the pond is still frozen, the moon catches his face and makes his pale grey skin glow in contrast to the dark of his horns. The scars over the ruined side of his face are made softer by the moonlight and the mist, she reaches up to touch the edge of them and he doesn’t flinch away.

“Did you like it?” She asks, voice quiet and barely there – she doesn’t want to speak any louder than a whisper, afraid she’ll break whatever mood it is that has stolen over them.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, hand still in her hair, still smiling at her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

She can’t answer him with anything more than a smile, breath stolen by the promise on his face.

Then, he smirks. Looks away. “You know,” He says, hand moving back to her shoulder, pulling her against him, “We’re gonna have to kill ‘em when they get bigger.”

She laughs at the excitement in his voice, “But not until they’re bigger.” She says.

He kisses her hair in agreement.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old friends have a conversation.

“You know, Rivaini, when I said that you were free to visit the Inquisition any time, I didn’t actually expect you to take the offer up.”

“I very nearly didn’t.” Isabella said as she leant on the balustrade. “It’s a bit too land-locked for me. What’s the use of a castle if it’s on top of a ruddy mountain?”

Varric shook his head, a tired smirk playing about his lips. “So not to put too fine a point on it, then, but why did you come?” He folded his hands across his chest, “I thought you’d be out sailing the open waters, or doing something else suitably…” He gestured at the newest addition to her outfit, “Hat worthy.”

She laughed and tipped the hat at him, feather flicking with the movement, “It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” She said, before she rolled one shoulder in a shrug, “My ship ran afoul – one of my idiot deckhands ran her against a reef – put a hole right in the middle of her hull. She’s being patched as we speak, but it’s a job that’s going to take a few months.” She grinned at him and stretched her arms above her head, “Thought I’d come visit an old friend in the meantime instead of sitting around getting drunk.”

“There’s a few problems with that story, Rivaini, the most glaring being that your favourite past time is sitting around getting drunk.”

“Actually, it’s my second favourite past time.” She gave him a friendly leer, and a wink, “But you know me, forever curious.”

“And there’s the real reason.” Varric said, one eyebrow lifting as he looked her up and down. She turned to face him and put a hand on her hip, flashing him a brief smile.

“Just trying to add another fancy name to my list of fancy names,” She said, grinning unabashedly. “So far I’ve managed both the Hero of Ferelden _and_ the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Don’t remind me,” Varric said, making a face, “There are some things I’d rather not think about and walking in on you and Hawke having drunken sex on my table is one of them.”

“It was _one time._ ”

“It was _my table._ ” Varric scowled at the pirate, she looked unrepentant.

“What can I say? I had a memorable introduction to both of you.” She shrugged, “It’s not like it happened again – didn’t we run into Fenris shortly after? I had no hope after broody, dark and glowy showed up.”

“Don’t change the subject, Rivaini. That it happened once is bad enough. I couldn’t eat off that table for a week afterwards.”

“I had one of my best meals at –”

“Finish that sentence and I swear Bianca’ll stop being as friendly to you as you want her to be.”

“Sourpuss.” The pirate stopped, however, turning back to the view over the balustrade. “Oh, is that her?”

Varric stepped to the edge of the balustrade and they both looked into the yard below, where a small redheaded elf had just stepped off the main stairs and was walking in the direction of some training dummies in the far corner of the yard. Another woman was there, sword out, going through forms, but she stopped as the elf came over, swiping a hand across her brow and taking a long gulp of the water skin that was resting next to a nearby tree.

“Tiny little thing, isn’t she?”

“Don’t let it fool you, Rivaini, she’s one of the best blade workers I’ve ever seen.”

Isabella let out a low whistle. “You tell me that like it’s a bad thing, Kitten.” She then paused, leaning further over the railing, “Is she… _flirting_ … with the Seeker?”

It was Varric’s turn to shrug. “She does that from time to time. I think she mostly does it just to press the Seeker’s buttons.”

“Well, that’s generally why you flirt, Dwarf.”

“Wrong buttons.” He shot back, “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste, though.”

“Hmm, that armour…”

“Don’t go there, Rivaini.”

“You’re no fun.” She poked the dwarf in his shoulder, he made a show of rocking back on his heels. She rewarded him with a small, genuine smile.

“But if you’re here for the Inquisitor, you’re a bit late.” Varric said, “She’s already found herself a boyfriend.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I had a twofer.”

“Varric nodded at someone down below. “ _That’s_ the boyfriend.”

Isabella peered over the railings once more, before she paled as much as her dark skin allowed and leapt back from the edge of the parapet.

“That’s a _qunari._ ”

“Ex-qunari, actually.” Varric said uncaringly, “Tal Vashoth. Used to be one of their spies.”

“How would he feel about certain pirates with… less than glorious pasts when it comes to certain qunari relics?” Even for her brazen speech, there was a slight tremor of nervousness in the pirate’s tone. She’d buried it well, but the tiny quirk of her dwarven companion’s lips revealed that he hadn’t missed it.

“Rivaini – he’d either find it hilarious or he’d kill you. I’m not entirely sure which way that particular coin toss would land.”

“Ah, yes. Well.” The pirate said, now trying to hide behind her significantly smaller friend, “Best not test the outcome, shall we?”

“Your courage is _astounding,_ Rivaini.”

“Hush,” Isabella scolded, “Some of us are quite happy to stay alive, thanks.”

“That would explain why I didn’t see you around here _before_ Corypheus died.”

Down below, the qunari approached the small elf and the Seeker, and said something that made the elf turn. Even from up on the parapet, it was easy to see the happiness that alighted in the woman, even as her hands came to her hips, her head tilted and she said something quickly back.

The qunari had a booming laugh that carried faintly up to them, even over the high wind.

The qunari drew the elf into his side, hand coming to rest on her ass. She swatted at him, but made no attempt to get him to move the hand, and eventually, the Seeker shooed both of them away.

They left, moving towards the tavern, and the Seeker went back to working on her training.

“Ugh,” Isabella crinkled her nose at the scene below, “Love.”

“I’m sure there’ll be another hero in a few years that you can try your hand at seducing, Rivaini.”

“Oh, there always is, Kitten,” The pirate purred, “But in the meantime, let’s go find something to drink, shall we?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally PWP. Prompted on Tumblr on the NSFW meme with Number 6: "Let me blindfold you."

There were not many things that the Inquisitor could say made life at Skyhold any better or worse than life in her clan. Indeed, most of the time her life now was merely different from what her life had been before - except for one very special case where life in the clans couldn’t even begin to hold a candle to life in Skyhold.

She sighed as the water of the bath washed over her, soothing the aches out of her muscles, the spelled runes on her tub causing the bath to hold it’s temperature perfectly. Oh yes, she thought as the water played across her skin, smelling faintly of frangipani, access to regular, warm baths had completely ruined clan life for her.

_Wait._

She opened her eyes and sat up suddenly, looking at the flower petals in the water, a suspicion growing in her mind.

_Frangipani._

Frowning, she slipped up and out of the bath. She pulled a robe around her and padded out of the small chamber that sat off her tower bedroom into her room proper, suspicions only growing when she saw that someone had replaced the dying flowers in her room with bouquets of lavender and crystal grace. 

Her lips pushed forward into a thoughtful pout as she took a few more steps into the room, before sudden movement behind her made her tense.

A scarf, silk, slipped about her neck suddenly, pulling back with enough pressure to make her feel it, but not enough to restrict her breathing. She gasped, a quick, in-drawn breath as the pressure forced her to take a half step back into a warm, broad chest. 

“Kadan,” Bull’s voice thrummed into her ear, and her breath hitched again as his brushed over the water on her neck, cooling and heating it at once. 

She leant her head back into his chest, swallowing so she could feel the material at her throat. 

“What’s your word?” Bull asked, voice still next to her ear, pulling slightly on the silk in a way that was very distracting.

She drew in a small breath, “Katoh.”

“Good girl.” She could hear the smile in his voice at that, even as the silk slowly slipped up her throat to her chin, then up and over so that it was covering her mouth. He nipped the tip of her ear as he drew the cloth up further, over her nose, before his face pulled away from the side of her head and the cloth slipped into place over her eyes.

She stiffened.

Bull caught it, letting the fabric come loose, pulling away from her slightly. He didn’t step out of her space, though, and the blindfold drooped down her nose as she stayed perfectly still in the loose circle of his arms.

“Alright, Kadan?” Bull asked, still not touching, but still not moving.

She swallowed again, this time more nervous than anything, and let out a gust of air to calm herself.

“Trust me?”

That, at least, was an easy question to answer, “Always.”

“Let me blindfold you, I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

She swallowed again, hesitated, then slowly nodded. 

He stepped back into her so that she could feel him as he drew the blindfold up against her eyes. The material was cool as it settled into place and blocked the light of the room entirely, and she felt him tie it into place, pulling it snug and secure against her head, but not too tight - no, never too tight. His fingers tangled briefly in her hair, giving one swift, reassuring tug before his hands slipped down her body to the belt of her robe. This was drawn open in one slow drag that she felt and heard but couldn’t see.

She felt the robe shift about her as it fell open, felt the cool air of the room ghost across her skin, felt herself shiver as gooseflesh (half nervousness, half a strange anticipation) raced over her bare skin.

Bull’s presence at her back fell away as did his hands where they rested warm and grounding on her hips and a thrill raced through her as she fought the urge to reach back for him, to find him in the darkness and be anchored again. 

“I’m not far, Kadan.”

His voice, at her side. She turned her head towards it and was rewarded with a slow rumble of a laugh that slid from her scalp to her toes. She strained her ears - there, the softest pad of footfall, well-covered but not quite well enough.

“You know,” He said, now in front of her, “When you’re straining to hear something, your ears give this tiny little twitch. It’s one of your tells.”

She clenched her hands into fists at her sides to stop herself from reaching for him. Her nails bit into her palms.

“One day,” He said, “I’m gonna string you up. Ears blocked, sight blocked, gagged, nothing but you and _sensation_ , Kadan. You’ll love every minute of it.”

His hands slid over hers, pressing them open. Then his fingers began to move in leisurely strokes, up and over her palms, four fingers on one side, two on the other. Gentle, calming, pulling away.

“Bull?” She asked, before she could stop herself.

One finger, pressed to her lip and then quickly pulled away. She licked her lips at the tingle it left there, before she swallowed and tried to stop herself from curling inwards.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view.” Bull’s voice was a self-assured rumble, as smug and loose as a preening tomcat.

She shivered.

His fingers were on her hands again, she flinched then stilled as they slid over her forearms, pushing up her robes. The hairs on her arms raised at their passing, she felt his fingers drag up from skin to cloth then to skin again, resting so gently on either side of her neck.

“This, however, is just a fucking tease.”

His voice was closer than before. She reached out, and her hand hit a warm plane of muscle, ridged with a long scar. One of his hands left her shoulder and caught hers. It pulled hers upward, there was a gentle brush of lips across her fingertips, then her hand was firmly pressed against her side.

His hand went back to her neck, thumb stroking idly over her collarbone, before it slipped under her robe, pushing the garment off her shoulders. It rustled down her arms to the floor, sending sparks shooting up her arms at the barely-there sensation.

“Yeah, that’s much better.” Bull’s breath was hot against her ear and one of his hands had moved and was now trailing an idle pattern up from her hip towards her ribcage. She could feel the heat of him, so much larger than she and bent down in front of her and she dwelled in it for a moment before his teeth were nipping at her earlobe and his hand was cupping at her breast. 

She keened in the back of her throat, head tilting back. His other hand gripped one of her asscheeks and squeezed. His fingers rolled around her nipple as his teeth nipped a long line up the shell of her ear and it was all she could do suddenly to keep standing, to hold her own weight up. 

“Trust me, Kalasin.”

She let her back arch and the hand on her ass moved, catching her about the middle as she felt him smile against her ear as he took all of her weight on one hand. His mouth moved from her ear to her throat, licking one long line from her clavicle to her chin, then pressing a hungry kiss to her mouth. She mewled into it, he bit at her lips as his fingers twisted her nipple in one sudden, sharp movement that shot a wave of both pain and pleasure through her. She was sure her knees were shaking, but he had her. He _had her._

A cry escaped her as his mouth moved away from hers, hand still supporting her back, other slowly dipping down now as his mouth and tongue trailed a nonsense path downwards. His lips stayed awhile at her other nipple, tongue rolling over the small bud before his teeth caught it and pulled. She gasped as her hips gave an involuntary roll, he chuckled, warm and deep.

“Shit, Kadan. I love fucking you, you know that?”

Oh, she did. She really did.

She made a nonsensical sound in the back of her throat and his lips began to move south again, tongue swirling in her navel, teeth biting hard enough to bruise at her hipbone. She was whimpering now, still held up by only his hand at her back, and now the other high on the back of her thigh, just below her ass. He hovered just above her centre for a long moment, nipping the line where her hair started to grow, lingering until she could feel her legs beginning to shake, feel her hands twitching to reach out to where she knew his head was (to do what, she didn’t know, because surely she wouldn’t be allowed to do anything so demanding as _push_  him where she wanted him.) 

Then he descended, and her knees would have given out entirely if he hadn’t been holding her up.

His tongue was like heaven, lathing in long strokes through her, parting her gently and probing at her while his nose brushed against her clit, shooting sparks of desire up into her belly. His stubble scratched against her deliciously as he moved, and she quickly lost all track of everything except for the way his mouth moved on her, the weight of his two hands. He took his time, now probing his tongue into her, now sliding his mouth up to suck at her clit, and she was in heaven, every moment of it, sensation narrowed down to heat and warmth and pleasure and his mouth on her and the slow build in her gut that was growing ever stronger with every open-mouthed kiss he gave to her centre between broad sweeps of his tongue. She couldn’t see him, she could only feel him working, slowly getting firmer, slowly getting faster.

She whimpered, he seemed to take that as some sort of a cue, grazing his teeth over her, ever so slightly, just enough to let her know that they were there and pleasure crashed over her, rippling through her body, leaving her seeing white against the black of the blindfold, all her weight in his hands and trusting him to hold her up. 

He worked her through it, kept going until she made a note of mild protest, his stubble too much against her sensitive skin. Then he pulled away, kissing up over her stomach, a line up from her navel, between her breasts, up her throat, against her lips. He shifted his grip on her, kept one hand on her back to hold her up, drew the blindfold off with the other, and the first thing she saw after was his face.

She smiled at him.

“There we go, Kadan.” He said, all smug grin and gentle hands, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She leaned up and kissed him, he laughed against her lips.

“Come on,” He said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”


	10. Chapter 10

Above everything else, Cassandra Pentaghast is a romantic at heart.

Which is why _at first_  - after the abysmal and _mortifying_ way she discovered it - she can’t understand the relationship between the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull.

It is not that she hasn’t tried.

She has thought about it more than she would care to admit. While she likes the Iron Bull and finds his manner towards her not displeasurable, she still doesn’t understand how one would consent to allow their partner the freedom to speak such a way to another woman. (And that is conveniently forgetting that the Inquisitor, too, speaks to Cassandra in a way that is at times entirely inappropriate for a woman in a committed relationship.) 

She doesn’t understand how someone as gentle and professional as the Inquisitor can choose to give themselves to someone as brash and loud as Bull. And, more than that, Bull’s manner means that he would never be the sort of man to surprise the Inquisitor with flowers, and the only poems that he knows are more than likely ones that start with “There once was a man from Orlais.”

She cannot deny, however, that there is a bond between the two. The Inquisitor would not have defended the relationship anywhere near half as ferociously as she did were there not.

And there are moments, perhaps, when she can also see the appeal of the man - he is _gentle_ , after all, when he must be, and he is certainly one of the kinder men of her acquaintance. He is also probably one of the most loyal men that Cassandra has ever met, and though he doesn’t dote on the Inquisitor perhaps as Cassandra would have liked a man to, there is no denying the genuine affection in his voice when he speaks to her, even when his voice has turned teasing and his eye is lit with amusement.

And though theirs is not a relationship based on romance, Cassandra does concede that it _is_  a relationship based on affection and trust. There’s a casualness about the two of them that now seems obvious to Cassandra as marks of their affection, where before she would have dismissed it as friendship. Casual, constant touches as they pass one another, Bull’s arm on the Inquisitor’s head when he’s teasing and around her shoulders when he isn’t. A gentle punch in the arm or push in the chest. 

And, when Bull notices that Cassandra is watching, a smirk and a ruffle of the Inquisitor’s hair, or a hand resting rather lower on the Inquisitor’s back than is fully decent in public. 

And if the two of them trade kisses near the training dummies in the shadow of the tavern, Bull stooped low and the Inquisitor up on her toes with her hands resting upon his chest - 

And if Bull drags a protesting Inquisitor into his lap and wraps his arms around her in a tavern on the road where they are unlikely to be recognised, and he kisses her neck while she laughs and tries to push away from him, squirming to get out of his hold but not really wanting to at all - 

And if their hands might tangle sometimes during a long hike from one camp to another, just for a moment and never too long because you always have to be alert on the roads for bandits and beasts - 

Cassandra might not understand the attraction, but her romantic heart can appreciate what she sees all the same.


End file.
